


Imagine Imogen

by FlexiRuler



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Care Home, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5010772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlexiRuler/pseuds/FlexiRuler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty's life is far from perfect. Isolated and in care, he needs someone to save him. Then Imogen comes along, and turns his world upside down. But she has problems of her own. Can James save her before its too late?<br/>This is a Teen Moriarty fanfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Longer Alone

 

Usually upon entering his dorm room, James Moriarty would perch on his bed and bask in the serenity of his loneliness. But today, he can't. Today, he isn't alone.

Bent over a small bag is a girl. She has a petite figure,and long brown hair hanging over her face. The stranger is sat on the only other bed in the room, the bed that is never used.

If James could have his own way, he would live in complete isolation, away from all the rest of humanity. But, sadly, James lives in a care home, and is therefore forced to live with a bunch of strangers. On the agreement that he wouldn't cause any trouble, James got his own room, all to himself. The attic room, in fact, which is best for everyone. The other children leave him alone, and he won't snap.

“Can I help you?” he stands in the doorway, hands on hips. She looks up at him, tucking a large piece of hair behind her ear. James isn't the kind of person to fall for people easily, but even he can see that there are many elements to this girl that could be found attractive. Her petite, delicate nose, large, rose coloured lips and hazel-brown eyes so big that they take over her face.

James isn't too bad-looking himself, either. He has short, dark brown hair, and the kind of eyes that make you want to look twice. He has a sense of danger about him. Many girls in his school fancy him, but wouldn't dare approach him. He's very fit, despite not specialising in a particular sport. He just works out 2 times a week, and has a lot of body strength. Looks can be deceiving:

He spends his time differently to other fifteen-year-olds. He often thinks about murdering people. Not just angry, spur-of-the-moment thoughts, proper, in-depth, planned-out murders. He is a deeply disturbed person. The other half of this free-time is spent reading, or doing homework. But eighty percent is planning murders. He isn't normal by any stretch of the imagination.

“Oh, yeah. Um, this is room 26, right?” Her accent is English, with a slight hint of Irish. “I wasn't sure.” she laughs a beautiful laugh, which completely baffles James. He's never understood the way in which humans communicate, or hasn't been interested.

“Yeah, but this is my room: you can't be here.” James can tell that he's being childishly possessive, but cant help himself, he likes his room just the way it is.

“I'm sorry, they just told me where to go.” her pretty features contort to pull a face that James can only describe as sympathy.

“Fucks' sake,” he curses and leans against the wall. Weirdly, he finds his eyes wandering over to her. She's actually really beautiful, and he can see it. Even with no social skills, James can tell that she feels awkward. She's stopped fiddling with her suitcase, and is now just staring at the wall. He wants to tell her to piss of and go somewhere else, but his mouth doesn't agree, and says the opposite.

“Fine, you can stay here,” he sighs. Her face lights up and she smiles at him with pearly teeth. “But you can't bother me, or I'll stuff a pillow over your face in your sleep.” he flops onto his bed, picturing how her murder would play out. He can imagine walking over with the pillow, and putting it over her face, but can seem to go any further with out removing it again to kiss her. He dismisses the thought for later,  and decides to try some 'small talk'.

“So... what's your name?” he closes his eyes, and tries not to think about her overpowering beauty.

“Imogen.” she ends the sentence abruptly, almost like she’s stopping herself from going any further. “Just Imogen.”

“Well, Just Imogen, I'm James Moriarty..” he sighs, like he's already fed up of her, but inside his mind, she is taking over.

“Hi.” Imogen pauses. “Where should I put my stuff?” she asks. He bolts upright, quickly glancing around the long room. Her bed is against the left wall, and his on on the far right. Unfortunately, there's only one wardrobe, and that’s already full.

“Um...” he spots the chest of drawers. “That's empty.” he points to it. It has piles of books lining the top.

“Oh, thanks,” she stands up and walks lightly to the drawers. Once again, James closes his eyes and lies back. Slowly, thoughts seep into his mind, many of Imogen. He starts to worry that he might actually _like_ her. He can't like her. He can't like anyone. He's not allowed to. They'll only be taken away again.

“This your first home?” he enquires, curious. She looks like this is her first. She doesn't seem used to the system. Unlike him.

“Yeah, I, um – yeah.” she stutters,and closes a drawer. “This is my first.” She admits to him.

“This is my seventh.” his raises his eyebrows, his arms behind his head, almost proud of himself.

“Really? How come?” she sounds relieved to have changed the subject from her.

“I got kicked out.” he laughs to himself at distance memories. In his earlier years of being a care-kid, he always played up. Beating up other children, destroying objects, vandalising, breaking the law. Being a general troublemaker, really. When he reached around 14, and was in his seventh home, he realised that he could actually use his troublesome nature to his advantage. He bribed the staff into getting what he wanted, by threatening to misbehave if they refused. So far, it has worked.

“Oh, I, um, I’ve got to got. Its eleven now.” She glances at the wall clock. “Agatha wants to speak to me. I'll see you later.” she smiles at him before leaving. James is left, feeling lost, confused, and almost scared.


	2. Scars and Secrets

__

“Ugh,” Imogen stands in the doorway. Her hair is put up in a light blue towel turban: she’s just got out of the shower, hot and bright red. “That lady will be the death of me, I swear.” She sits herself on the mattress. “Yes, but how do you _feel_? How does that make you _feel_?” Imogen impersonates Agatha, the home counsellor. “ I don't fucking know!” she sighs, exasperated.

“Yeah, you'll get used to it. She never shuts up.” he closes his book, _How To be A Successful Psychopath_ , and places it on the bedside table. “Nice enough, though.” He looks at her. Even now, she still wears lots of bracelets, hiding her wrists, and long cloths hiding the rest of her. He cant help sensing that there’s a reason why. She looks uncomfortable and keeps picking at her left arm,and glancing nervously at her wrists. He makes a mental note to find out why.

.           .           .

Its 1.30 am, and James still isn't asleep. This isn't like him at all. Usually, he can fall asleep straight away, like flicking off a switch in his brain, but tonight he can't.

This is partly because he can't stop thinking about Imogen,  and its also because of the racket she's making. About 20 minutes ago, Imogen started moving around a lot, wriggling and so on.

“Mm, uh, no,” she exclaims over and over, becoming increasingly distressed. He glances over to her, but the only the tiniest amount of light is seeping into the room, so he can't see. She suddenly starts yelling. “NO! NO!” she pants and wakes up. Imogen starts crying. She bolts upright, and sobs into her knees, tucked under her  chin. “Its OK, you're safe, they're gone.. gone.” her voice falters and ends with a sob.

“Are you OK?” James finally speaks up. “Imogen?” he sits up and turn the lamp on, lighting up the room. She blinks twice, her eyes adjusting to the change.

“Yeah, I'll be OK. Just a nightmare.” she smiles like it was nothing. For the first time, he can see her arms: they aren’t covered by her pink pyjama top. She has indents on her wrists, like she’s had tight rubber bands on them for too long. Also, she has several scars over the rest of her arms. Long, dark, thick lines pattern her skin. Imogen must be able to tell he’s looking at them because she wraps the blanket around her, hiding them self-consciously.

“You sure?” He narrows his eyes at her, knowing full well that she’s not OK, and it was more than just a nightmare.

“Yeah, go back to sleep.” She sniffs and lies back down. Sighing, James turns off the lamp. “Night.” she calls.

“Night.” He retorts and closes his eyes.

_ What are the scars from? Surely she doesn't self harm?  No, they're too big, too different, not actual cut scars. And those indents... on both wrists. What are they? She obviously hasn't done this to herself, because she constantly tries to hide them. She must hate them. They don't look an accident, too randomly placed. What is her secret? _

_.           .           . _

“Any more nightmares?” He asks her at the breakfast table. James rarely eats, particularly not at breakfast, and it looks like Imogen is the same. She has a cup of tea and buttered white toast, but has only started at them like they're going to attack her when she’s not looking, instead of actually eating them. She looks up at him with big, brown eyes.

“No,” Imogen has put on a fluffy, light blue jumper to hide her imperfections. James pulls a face. She looks at him, almost daring him to mention her scars. He doesn't fall into her trap.

“Good.” His eyes wander to his cereal. He picks up his cup of tea, downs it in one, and leaves the room, wanting to be alone for a short while.

.           .           .

Imogen is curled up on a rather cheap-looking chair, gazing at the TV. There is never anything interesting on TV, but everybody watches anyway because there is nothing better to do around there. Ironically, a programme about a care home is playing.

“Oi, move it new kid!” Michael, another care-child, pokes her in the back. “You're blocking my view, you idiot!”

“Fine,” she sighs and starts to get up. He grabs hold of her upper-arm before she can go anywhere. Michael is around 16 years of age. He has extremely short black hair, and a lot of arm muscle. He got taken into care on the account that his father took heroin, and abused his mother.

“Hey, I know you!” he smiles. Imogen lets out a high-pitched scream. He drops her like she’s on fire. Imogen cowers away from him, shaking.

“Don't touch me!” she yells and runs out, past other children scattered on the floor, who all saw it play out. Everyone falls silent. James stares after her, but she’s gone.

“Yo, what’s her problem?” Michael nudges his friends, before whispering to him. “Right? Am I right? Its her, isn't it?” he jeers.

“Oh my God, yeah!” His nameless friend agrees, laughing. James pulls a face, confused.

__

_ How could they possibly know her? _

__

He wants to find out. He _needs_ to find out.

“Who is she?” he speaks up. James is not the of person to say much, so this is a shock to everyone. No one can remember the last time he actually engaged in a conversation with any of them.

“Nah, mate, that'd be telling.” Michael taps his nose, laughing, He then turns away, finding something else that interests him.


	3. Falling

 

Awkwardly, he walks into his dorm room. Imogen is hiding under her white duvet, weeping quietly. He can see her body shape curled up. James, as you might have guessed, is not the best at emotion and things of that sort, so he stands by the door, unsure of what to say or do. He clears his throat. Slowly, she peers from underneath the covers, her large eyes glazed with tears; her lashes soaking.

“James?” She calls, sniffing lightly. Her eyes are puffy, and she has gone quite red.

“Are you, um, alright?” He hesitates. She nods a bit too willingly, aggressively. She's obviously lying. They both know it.

“I'm fine.” her voice is heavy with tears and emotion.

“Are you sure?” he checks.

“Its nothing. I just hate them.” She tucks her knees into her chin, like a child in a sulk. He thinks about how small she is, how upset she is. It causes a weird feeling inside him, a feeling that's extremely rare to him. He actually wants to look after her; take care of her. The feeling shocks him.

“Well, I'm here if you need me.” He rushes and goes back downstairs, clearing his mind.

.           .           .

Imogen joins the same school as him, the local, rough high school. She doesn't settle in too good. She struggles in all of her lessons, and is moved into a ' _special_ ' class. She doesn't make friends, or even try to. She just spends her time alone, not bothering with anyone else.

.           .           .

“What are they?” he looks at her. She's examining herself in the bedroom mirror, running a brush through her hair.

“What are what?” she puts her hair into a ponytail, it trails gently down her back.

“Those marks.” he gestures to her arms. She’s finally settled in, and has been there for a week. “I can see by the bracelets.” a bit of scarred flesh is poking through. Instantly, she covers it up. “Imogen,” he sighs and rubs between his eyes “Tell me the truth.” James says. She turns to him, rage bubbling inside her.

“I cant, and why would I?” Imogen says, through gritted teeth. “Alright? I can't tell you , so stop being such a bastard and leave me alone.” she yells at him before walking away in a huff. James feels the anger rush through his veins, taking over him. He clenches his fists. _This is what happens,_ he thinks to himself, _this is what happens when you let people in. No emotion... block it out, James, you're better off without it; without them; without her._

__


	4. The File

For weeks, they don't talk. They sleep in the same room, go to the same school, but don't talk. When she’s only around him, she no longer hides her scars. He can see around 15 on her arms, and quite a few on the little bit of leg that is occasionally visible.

 

One night, after 2 months of silence, Imogen finally speaks out.

 

“James?” She calls into the darkness of night. “James, are you awake?” her voice is husky, and there's something about it that attracts James.

 

“I am now.” he replies. He can tell some thing’s wrong. She sniffs loudly.

 

“Can I come over?” she asks. He considers it for a moment. He hasn't even thought about kissing her for at least 8 weeks.

 

“Yeah, sure.” James can hear light footsteps on the laminate flooring. Slowly, she creeps into the bed with him. Its cold for an instant, but then warms back up. She puts her head under his arm, snuggling in.

 

“I'm sorry.” Imogen finally apologises. For some reason, it feels natural for him to put an arm around her. He does so. Lightly, she sighs.

 

“Its OK, I forgive you.” he whispers. “Imogen... I really like you.” he finally admits to himself and to her. She lets out a quiet sob.

 

“Don’t, please, just don't.” she begs. “You can't. No one can.” she sniffs. “You really don't know me.”

 

“What wrong?” he enquires.

 

“Go downstairs, break into the cupboard and read my file. Then tell me you still like me.” she cries softly. He hesitates, but leaves the bedroom and walks silently downstairs. In the games-room, there is a locked cupboard with the files of all the children in the home. He hunts the floor with his hands, and finds a bobby-pin. With a dull 'clunk!' he breaks the lock. He finds the section 'I' and pulls out her file. He takes it to the window to read it properly. Somehow, over two sides of A4, someone has managed to fit in the worst thing James has ever read: Imogen's' life.

 

When Imogen was 10, her mother died in a head-on car collision. Her father resorted to alcohol to drown out his problems. It didn't take long for him to drink away all their money. So her father set up a website called 'Imagine Imogen'. Anybody could write in, saying 'I Imagine Imogen..' and whatever they wanted.

 

By the age of 11, Imogen was a child prostitute, assaulted by hundreds of men. For 4 years this carried on. She never wanted it, she hated it, and had attempted suicide multiple times. She was abused sexually, physically, and mentally. Social Services eventually caught on, she was taken into care, and her father was arrested. She is traumatized, has reoccurring nightmares, is insecure and suicidal.

 

His eyes fill with tears. Now he understands why she has scars, why she tried to hide them, and why she doesn't like being touched. He puts the file back gingerly.

 

When he returns, she's curled up in his bed, crying. James climbs in beside her.

 

“I still like you. In fact... I think I might love you.” he whispers. “But there are things that you should know about me aswell.” he sighs.

 

“OK,” she says in anticipation.

 

“Well, to put it simply, I'm a murderer.” He pauses. She says nothing and stays completely still. “ I was bullied in school, and one day, I just lost it. I ended up stabbing this one guy. I killed him. My dad, he was great, he understood. He helped me cover it up. We got away with it. But my mother, she couldn't handle the guilt. She had a break down. She ended up choking my dad to death. I just stood there, watching her slowly squeezing the life out of him. I couldn't just let her... get away with that, so I killed her. Made it look like suicide. You can't tell, though. Nobody else knows.” he expresses. James expects her to scream and run away yelling 'he's a psychopath! He's going to kill me!'.

Instead, she snuggles in closer to him. The next words out of her lips shock him.

 

“Would you kill again?” Imogen asks him. He hesitates, unsure of how to answer.

 

“Well, I do have, you know, urges sometimes, but I try to control them.” he can't think of anything else to say.

 

“Get the people who made me who I am; who did this to me. Kill them.” she speaks so angrily, it takes him back. “They don't deserve to live.” he consider this: its true. “Do you promise?” She looks up to him with enlarged eyes.

 

“I promise.” He whispers, and before he can think, her lips are pressed against his. He has a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. She starts to pick up her pace, and kisses him more passionately.

 

“I love you,” she whispers and pulls away slowly. James runs a hand through her hair. “will you look after me?” She sounds so sad; so innocent, he cant say no.

 

“Of course I will.” he promises. She smiles and grabs his hand. She turn on her side and wraps his hand around her stomach. He breathes gently in her ear and kisses down her neck. Within minutes, Imogen is snoring lightly. He kisses her one last time, and falls asleep himself.


	5. The Mission

 

They can't stop looking at each other over the breakfast table. They hide sneaky smiles. He notices that she's actually eating, its only one small piece of buttered toast, but still. He can't quite believe  that she loves him: that he’s actually capable of loving and being loved. He tries his hardest not to think of all the dreadful, horrendous things that happened to her. All those terrible people doing the worst things imaginable to her; forcing her into so many painful and unspeakable things. He wants to kill them, torture them, make them feel what she felt.

At the same time, they both walk upstairs.

“Imogen... what did they do to you, exactly?” he asks when they reach their room. “You can tell me.”

“I... they...” she stutters, unable to remain calm. “I was always tied up. Every time. I couldn't move. That’s why I have these,” she gestures to her indents on her wrists. “And... they'd say the filthiest and nastiest things. Like, that I deserved it, and it was my fault.” she starts weeping. “I hated it, James. I hated it.” Imogen sits on his bed, next to him. “There were so many different men.” she sobs. He puts an arm around her.

“You don't have to carry on, if you don't want to.” he finds his own eyes becoming watery. “If its too much.” He feels her head resting on his shoulders. “I'll look after you.”

“Promise?” she whispers as he embraces her.

“I promise.” he holds her close to him and kisses her soft hair. He feels so blessed that someone finally cares about him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Imogen cries into him. “Please don't let them find me. I don't want to do it again... please.” She breaks into hysteria. Uncontrollably, she sobs.

“Shush, its OK,” he rubs her back. “Shush, now.” James comforts her. “You won’t ever have to do anything like that again.  I won't let them.” He pledges to her. She just folds into him.

“I still have nightmares, and I’m on medication for the pain.” Imogen admits. “I can't have children any more.”

“Oh, sweetie...” he feels a pull on his heart. He doesn’t want to let her go, not now, not ever.

“It was always so painful. Dad said I would get used to it, but... I never did. It was like every time was worst than the last.” She calms down slightly.

“There...shush...” he whispers. “Have a lie down.” he says and lowers her onto the bed. He pulls the blanket over her. “Try to sleep, honey.” he kisses her forehead gently. “Don’t think about, block it out.” he sits on the bed beside her. Imogen's eyes are closed and she looks peaceful. James takes in her gentle, delicate features. She's so beautiful. He runs his fingers through her light brown locks. “I'll look after you.” he presses his lips between her eyebrows. Her lips form a light smile.

.           .           .

His hands hover over the keyboard. James gets as far as 'Imagine Im-' and many results appear. He doesn't dare click on them. Some of the titles make him want to vomit. 'Imagine Imogen torture', 'Imagine Imogen fisting', 'Imagine Imogen bleeding'. He wants to throw the computer at the wall. He scrolls down. 'Imagine Imogen gang fuck'. James has had enough. He closes the tab sharply. Feeling anger bubbling inside him, he begins repeatedly punching the wall.

“ _You bastards!_ ” he yells as his knuckles start bleeding. Its happened so many times before, that he cant even feel it. He forces himself to stop and tries to think about how she must've felt. He must stay strong for her. He promised he would kill them, and he will. Not one of those sick people will survive. James makes it his mission.


	6. Falling Out / Damaged Skin

__

_ Chapter 7 _

_ Falling Out / Damaged Skin _

__

He lies on his bed, confused. For 10 minutes, he's in shock. James mind is bursting with questions. He just lost his virginity, but it feels like she didn't even want it. He's so confused. She walks in, a blue towel wrapped around her. He looks at her, he almost feels angry.

__

_ Why is she being like this? _

__

“What the fuck was that about?” he says through gritted teeth.

“What that?” she raises her eyebrows. “Just saving you time.” she sighs, rubbing her hair dry with another towel.

“What are you on about?” he asks. She turns into him.

“All that _I love you_ bollocks. All you wanted was sex, so I saved you the time. Now you can go back to hating me. You only wanted  to see what is was like to fuck Imagine Imogen, well _now you do!_ ” She shouts, and throws the damp towel at him, missing the bed completely, lands on his bedside table, and topples a lamp over.

“That’s not-” He protests, to be interrupted. He tries his hardest to stay somewhat calm.

“You're a psychopath! You don't care about me! You wanted to use me,you would do all the things those men did to me if I let you, well I won't!” To his surprise, she drops her towel, revealing her entire scared, naked body. “This,” she gestures to it. “is mine!” she yells at him. Her body is severely deformed.

“You stupid, _stupid_ girl.” he turn away from her, his heart broken.

.           .         .

“Why would you even think that?” He speaks into the dark.

“All men are the same, trust me,” she laughs nastily “you are no different.”

“You don't know that.” he says resentfully.

“My dear, I've had plenty of experience, believe me: _men are shits_.” he can hear her turn over.

“So are some females.” He bites back. “I'm not like that.”

“Yes you are. All your kind are.” she sighs. “I hate my life.” She mutters so quietly its barely audible, but James can still hear it.

“So do I sweetie.” He says bitterly. “I thought that you cared about me. It gave me hope, but... I guess not.” he imitates her sigh. “I do feel sorry for you Imogen, believe me, I do, but you need to trust people, you really don’t help yourself.” he tells her truthfully.

“I hate you.” She utters furiously, wrapping the blanket around her tighter.

“No, you hate yourself.” He closes his eyes. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, psycho.”she whispers quietly.

.         .        .

Every week for days, they take little digs at each other, small, hurtful comments that the other will think about for hours after. But James wont mention her past, he’s not like that. He wouldn't use that against her.

“Alright psycho? Got any friends yet? Oh wait, you killed them all.” she punches him in the shoulder. A feeble, light punch, but it still infuriates him. He stops and grabs her delicate wrists. For a moment, she looks terrified.

“I've had enough of you always fucking _doing this_.” he shouts. She tries to back away, but his iron-grip is too strong for her. James stands up and thrusts her into the wall. Imogen starts whimpering.

“Please...no.” It's like she's changed, like she’s a different person. She’s so scared and vulnerable. “Don’t hurt me. I'm sorry.” Tears fall from her eyes, and land on the laminate softly. He didn't want to upset her like this. He sighs and lets go of her. To his surprise, she falls to the floor. She sits there, knees under her chin, head in hands, sobbing. “I wont do it again, I’m sorry.”

“I wasn't going to- Imogen, I wouldn't do that.” he sighs and crouches down beside her. “I'm sorry for upsetting you.” he apologises. She looks at him.

“It just felt like... you know... I don’t like being touched.” her eyes are filled with tears. He places a hand on her shoulder. He refuses to fall for her again, but he can't help it. Its happening again.

“You're OK.” he tells her and leaves the room. He walks down the stairs and into the bathroom. He searches through a small make-up bag. He finds a pair of razor-sharp scissors. He separates the blades and holds one to his wrist. Reminding himself not to fall for her again, he penetrates the blade deep into his skin. Pain gushes through him. His veins throb, and he leans against the wall for support. Blood rapidly seeps out of the cut. He tells himself  he deserves this because he shouldn't have emotions, let alone lust for the girl who sleeps in his room... who he lost his virginity to.

He grabs some toilet roll and holds it to the wound. The pain eases slightly, but the red substance still leaked through the toilet paper.

__

_ He cant love her, he cant love anyone. He's better off alone. She'll only hurt him like before. _

__

__


	7. Not Quite So Perfect

“Whose that?” Imogen asks three weeks later. She looks over his shoulder as he holds a photograph of a woman with long, dark brown hair.

 

“My mum,” he sighs “the bitch.” he stuffs the photo back into a small box full of memories. It has a couple of photos of his father and mother, all happy and smiling. Not any more.

 

“She looks like you.” she comments. He mumbles. “Are you OK?” he looks her in the eye and says nothing. “do you want to talk?” she asks. He shakes his head. For reasons unknown to him, he leans in and kisses her on the lips. Gently, he touches the side of her face. He feels her arms around him. James gets increasingly hot. Before he knows anything, Imogen is lying down.

 

“What are you-” he asks, to be cut off abruptly by her.

 

“Do it.”She pulls her stripy top up over her head and throws it on the floor violently. Finally, he can see her marks. There are dark, thick, long lines across her stomach. He feels sorry for her. She will always be reminded of what happened to her, every time she looks in the mirror. She will never escape it, no matter how hard she tries. No number of drugs can ever make her forget.

 

“But after everything...” he trails off. She grabs him and pulls him close, so he's leaning over her awkwardly.

 

“Just do it, James.” Imogen almost sounds angry. He figures why not? and takes off his own shirt, revealing his six-pack. James kisses her again, but she doesn't kiss back, her lips stay still, unmoving. Instead, she tugs at her own jeans.

“Are you sure?” he checks, feeling guilty, not sure if he actually wants to, let alone her. Imogen throws her trousers on the floor.

 

“Fucking do it.” She swears and undoes his jeans for him. He sighs, but does as he's told. The entire time, she keeps her eyes closed, and won't actually do anything: she just lays there and takes it, with no sign of emotion what-so-ever. He wishes she would engage more. He doesn't understand what all the fuss is about, it isn't particularly good, or exciting, it's just a lot of unnecessary effort. His mind begins to wander after a short while. When he's finished, she simply pushes him off her. She sits up and throws her legs over the side of the bed. Imogen grabs her clothes and quickly puts them on, breathing heavily. She clears her throat.

 

“I’m going to have a shower.” She says, her voice deep, and leaves the room. He's remaining, wondering what on earth is going on, panting and covered in sweat.


	8. Second Chances

__

They stop picking at each other and don’t even talk for a further 9 weeks. Every time he wants to speak to her, or think about her, he stares at his scar and how much it hurt, and how much it _will_ hurt if he lets her in again.

One day, curiosity gets the better of him, so he decides to research Imagine Imogen again. He clicks on the official website.

'Imagine Imogen can cater to any man’s needs for a price. We have over 300 videos for anything in between £50 - £800 per view. You can send in a request or join in for £500 onwards. Imagine Imogen will do everything you ask and satisfy you in every way. She will fulfil your darkest fantasies. Enjoy her services.'

'I Imagine Imogen...' every request starts with. There are links to the videos and a pay per view price. He almost wants to cry. He closes the tab and shuts down the computer. Sighing, he goes back upstairs. she’s sat on her bed, plaiting her hair, looking vacant.

“I, um, went on the website.” he clears his throat. He decides to tell her the truth.

“What website?” she doesn't sound hostile at all, she almost sounds as if she’s not paying attention.

“Um... your website.” he admits meekly, not able to look at her. There’s a deadly silence. “Its terrible, Imogen. What happened to you...” he sighs. “...should never happen to any human being. Its... despicable, and if you really do want them dead, then... you know, I can do it.” He says very quickly, and finally looks at her. She’s stopped plaiting and her hair is now slowly undoing itself. She looks him in the eye, her expression unreadable. He can't tell if she's angry or not, whether this will make her hate him more, or not.

“Thanks.” She says simply. “Thank you.” She remains emotionless. “Can you help me with the maths homework? I don’t get it.” she pulls a small book out of a bag. She still isn't doing well in school. She doesn't even try any more.

“Sure” he walks over and spends the next hour explaining the concept of algebra to Imogen. Finally, she seems to understand. Kind of.

“Thanks,” she grins at him. “Friends?” She offers him her hand. He takes it.

“Friends.” James smiles at her.

.          .        .

“How is she?” Agatha asks James. “She won't even speak to me properly any more.” she fiddles with a bright pink bangle on her wrist. She's wearing a pink top, blue jeans and a long purple cardigan, over her large arms. she’s a very joyful, colourful woman who's full of sympathy, and tries to see the best in everyone and everything. Her thick black hair falls over her eyes.

“We're friends now. She's very, ugh...” he sighs, struggling to find the right word. “I don’t know.”

“Its no secret that she was a child prostitute, James. More often than not, they become self-destructive. They wont let anyone in, can't bring themselves to trust anyone else.” she sighs. “Deep down, she's a lovely girl, she just needs the right person to hep her open up to the world.”

“Ag?” Meekly, he looks at her.

“Yes?” she angles her head. “What is it, James?”

“I really fancy her,” he admits. “ But I cant, can I?”

“James... you cant. One: it would put her through too much and two: you're both too young and I’d lose my job.” she smiles lightly. “That girls life is ruined. She'll probably never have another relationship again. Or a normal one, at least. Poor girl.”

.           .         .

“Are you OK?” he asks. She looks up to him.

“Uh? Oh yeah.” she sounds distracted.

“What’s wrong?” he questions, concerned.

“Its just that... well, this time four years ago, my dad started imagine Imogen.” she explains. He pulls  a face, trying to imagine how she must be feeling. Abominable, he guesses.

“Oh, that's rough,”he sighs. “Try not to think about it too much.”

“I can't help it.” Imogen's voice is thick with tears. “I always think about it.” Oddly, James puts an arm around her shoulder. She flinches, but leans into him regardless. “I don't want to do it any more. Anything. I just don’t want to.” She closes her eyes. He holds her and says nothing. He can picture her file. It said she was suicidal. He keeps his arms around her protectively, as if stopping her from doing the worst thing imaginable. He finally accepts that he loves her. “I'm sorry” Imogen cries. “I shouldn’t treat you like this. You've only ever been nice to me. You don’t deserve this.” She finally apologises. He sighs at her.

“Imogen, you've only been here 8 months, and in that time I have felt more emotions than the rest of my life put together.” he pulls away and looks her in the eye. “I love you.” he admits. She breaks into a smile and embraces him once more.

“Lets take it slow this time,” she sounds contented. “and I’ll try not to be such a bitch.” She promises him.

“Imogen, its not your fault.” he speaks softly into her neck.

“Of course it is.” she sighs. No more words are exchanged and she eventually falls asleep on his lap, his arms still protecting her from the rest of the world.

__

__


	9. Thin

Chapter 9

 

Thin

 

“What the fuck?” Imogen exclaims randomly. “What the fuck is this?” She stabs angrily at a small book. He looks across at her: maths. Again. “How can you take away a fifth from a third? This is fucking stupid and I refuse to do it.” She casually throws the book at he wall and fold her arms in a child-like manner.

 

“You want some help?” He asks, holding back a smile.

 

“Yes!” She laughs. So once again, they spend the evening in a maths book. Eventually, she seems to have grasped it. When they're done, she leans in and kisses him on the lips, not a passionate kiss, a gentle, almost friendly kiss. They look into each others eyes.

 

“Thank you.” she whispers. He only smiles, baffled by her. He glances at her arms, her scars in full view. He picks up her hand and kisses each one he can see, ending by her shoulder. James then does the same to the other arm. She smiles at him, tears threatening to fall over her lashes at any moment. One slowly makes a path down her ivory cheek. He brushes it away with one finger.

 

“You silly girl.” he smiles, an plants a single kiss on the tip of her delicate nose. “it'll be alright.”

“Yeah?” She asks, looking hopeful.

 

“I promise.” he kisses her once on the lips and leaves her to have a shower.

. . .

 

Underneath his fingertips, her skin is soft and cool, but he can still feel small, rigid bumps placed randomly. Imogen has come over for a hug, but even that cant seem to stop him from touching her. She's curled up on his chest. His one arm is around hers and his other is gently stroking an uncovered bit of lower back. Its pitch black and all they can hear is each other breathing slowly.

 

“I hate my scars.” she whispers quietly, breaking the serenity of their silence. “I'm ugly. Deformed.”

 

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” he tells her, now drawing imaginary circles on her back.

 

“You're very gentle, aren’t you?” she asks. He pauses for a moment, deep in thought.

 

“Well... I am with you, I guess. But that’s only because I like you.” he kisses her forehead once and brings his hand up to stroke her face. “I hate all other human beings.” there’s a long pause and he's slowly drifting into sleep, he's certain he can hear her mutter 'lies'.

 

. . .

 

Finally, for once, they're both happy. They make each other happy, is more the point. James is the protection and security that Imogen needs so desperately, and Imogen is that little reminder to James that he's not unlovable, and can have feelings. In many ways, they complete each other, and over the weeks, they begin to realise it. They kiss and hug, but don't feel the urge to go any further.

 

. . .

 

“This one!” She exclaims. It startles James as he lost interest a while ago, and started day-dreaming. He looks at the item she's holding up. Its a long-sleeved, dark blue top. He knows nothing about fashion, so he fakes enthusiasm.

 

“Yeah, that one's lovely. Do you want to go try it on? There are changing rooms at the back, I think.” he gestures to the back of the shop. She smiles.

 

“Will you pick up a size six for me? I don’t know if I’m a four or a six.” she pats him on the arm and walks off to try it on. Again, he doesn't know much about fashion, or clothes, but even he knows that a size four or six is tiny for a fifteen year old. He's never properly realised how thin she is. He looks after her. Now he can see it. She's verging on anorexia-thin. He pulls a face and picks up a size six. James follows after her, and knocks on the changing-room door.

 

“Im? I got the size six.” he's about to pass it over the top of the door, when it flings open.

 

“Quick. I don't want anybody seeing me.” She whispers, looking around anxiously, even though they are the only people in the shop. Somehow, they both fit in the tiny cubicle. She's half-in and half-out of the new top. She puts her other arm through. It fits lovely and makes her look lovely. She smiles at herself in the full-length mirror., running her hands down both her sides. James doesn't really understand why: it makes no difference. “The size four is perfect. Six would be too big.”

 

“Beautiful.” he smiles at the mirror version of her. She turns to him, beaming.

 

“You think?” she asks eagerly. He takes her in his arms.

 

“Of course, but you'd look amazing in a bin bag.” he presses his lips against hers gently. She pulls away slowly.

 

“Should I get it?” she asks him happily.

 

“No. I'll get it. My treat.” he smiles at her. She giggles gleefully.

 

“Thank you!” she wraps her arms around his neck. He falls back slightly, bumping into the mirror. “Oh, sorry!” she laughs.

 

“Get out of that top, and I’ll go pay for it while you change.” he offers.

 

“OK.” she says, and takes it off. He leaves the cubicle and pays for it at the counter. Its £45.

 

. . .

 

She runs a hand through his short brown hair, his lips gently brushing against hers. She's lying on top of him, both of them under the bed sheets. Its pitch black and absolutely boiling. His arms are wrapped around her back. She pauses for a moment.

 

“You OK?” he asks gently. She sighs sleepily.

 

“Yeah,” she replies and places her head on his shoulder. All of a sudden, everything is bright white.

 

“James! Imogen? What are you doing?” Agatha exclaims. He pulls down the blanket, revealing them both.

 

“What are you doing? Its, like, midnight.” he sighs. Imogen looks stricken.

 

“James, I told you not to!” She says angrily, hands on hips.

 

“We're not- we're not fucking, Ag. She was upset, she wanted a hug.” He lies. Imogen nods in agreement.

 

“Yeah... flashbacks, you know?” she looks at her pleadingly. Agatha sighs and pulls a face.

 

“Just... don't do anything you shouldn't.” she sighs again and switches off the light, leaving them both in darkness once more. Imogen relaxes, sighing. 

 

“That was close.” she laughs lightly. “I love you.” she says. He leans his head against hers and slowly drifts into sleep.

 

. . .


	10. I Love You

“I've always wanted to get married.” Imogen says one day, out of the blue. He looks up at her. she’s laying back on her bed, looking dreamily into the distance.

 

“Yeah?” he asks. She glances at him.

 

“Yeah. It just seems nice, you know?” she smiles happily, as if she's actually walking down the isle herself.

 

“Well... who's to say we won't some day?” he says quietly, privately teasing her, knowing that’s what she wanted him to say.

 

“Really!?” she beams at him with her huge, brown eyes. “Do you mean it?” Imogen reminds him of a loyal dog, hanging on his every word. Secretly, he relishes in it.

 

“Really. I mean, why not? You'd look beautiful all in white.” he pictures her in a long sleeved, draping white dress, holding white lilies. She keeps on smiling.

 

“Do you really mean it? Can we really get married some day? Do you promise?” She explodes into questions. He laughs lightly.

 

“Of course, why not?” he gets up and walks over to her. “We are meant for each other.” holding her, he gently kisses her ring finger. “So yes, I do promise.”

 

“Oh!” she exclaims in a rather girlie-manner. She wraps her arms around his neck, embracing him. “Thank you,” she whispers in his ear. “I'm ready, I think.” She pulls away to look in his eyes. For a moment, he's baffled, but then it hits him. What she really means.

 

“R-really? Are you sure?” he tilts his head slightly.

 

“Yes.” she sounds uneasy. “As long as you promise me one thing: you will kill those men. Really, now. I want them dead, every single on of them. Regardless of what happens to me, make sure they dies, OK? Even my father.” she grasps his arms, not letting go. He nods his head.

 

“I promise,” he says. “You know I’ll do that anyway. We don't have to do this, honestly. You don't have to bribe me with sex, or anything like that.” he tells her. “I don't want it to be like before, sweetie.”

 

“OK. Sorry. I just can't help it. I know you're not like that. I’m sorry.” she smiles lightly, but its different in some way, like its being forced.

 

“Its OK. Maybe we should wait until we are married. As soon as we're old enough? What do you think?” He warms to the idea of marriage.

 

“Yeah...” Imogen trails off. There’s a tone to her voice that he can't quite place, but ignores it. He doesn't want any more problems.

. . .

 

“Its my birthday on Friday.” She says. He runs his fingers gently through her hair. “My 16th birthday.” She looks up at him, hand on his chest, her legs tucked in near his, spooning him.

 

“Yeah? What do you want? Jewellery? Clothes?” He lists the first things that pop into his brain associated with female birthdays or celebrations. “I can take you shopping on Saturday, I get my allowance.”

 

“Mm... surprise me.” Her eyes narrow. He gently kisses her soft hair.

 

“OK.” James feels his eyes slowly closing.

 

“As long as you kill them, I don’t care.” she adds purposely. He wonders why she’s bringing it up again. He promised her that he would, and he will.

 

Why is she asking again? Does she want it done before her birthday? If so, what’s the hurry? Even he knows that its a difficult task to hunt down hundreds of sex offenders, kill them all and dispose of their bodies within 5 days. It would be impossible.

 

“I will, you know I will. But when we're older, and no longer in care. It would be way too difficult here. Impossible, even. You do understand that, don't you?” he tries to make her see sense.

 

“Yeah, I know. I’m just saying: kill them.” she sounds icy. “No matter what happens to me, they die, OK?”

 

“OK.” he agrees, desperate to end the conversation.

 

No matter what happens to her? What does she mean? What’s going to happen to her? Why is she so upset?

 

But later, he can feel a nagging sensation telling him some thing's wrong. Really wrong.


	11. Falling Apart

 

In the days leading up to her 16th birthday, Imogen becomes distant. Its a very sudden, very strong emotional barrier between her and the outside world. Even him. She won't talk to him properly and won't kiss him properly. He tries to occupy himself with her birthday present. He eventually decides that he will get up early on Friday and buy her a necklace. It will be his promise to her that she will always be safe with him, and always loved. He knows the one he'll get her, its a solid silver heart-shaped pendant. It costs £115. She’s worth every penny and more to him. He wants to get it on the day so she wont find it.

.          .        .

Slowly, tears begin to fall from her eyes. They gently land on the mattress.

“Hey, you OK? Don’t cry, its alright.” he walks over to her. He puts an arms round her. “Hey, Im. Its OK.” James tries to comfort her, but his efforts only make her more upset. After a few minutes, she’s verging on hysteria. He grabs hold of her. “Imogen! Calm down!” he shakes her gently.

“Oh!” She exclaims and falls into him. She's sixteen tomorrow. She calms down slightly, but sobs delicately into his shoulder.

“Shush now, its OK.” he rubs her back. Slowly, she collects herself. For a few minutes, no words are exchanged.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” He whispers gently. She sniffs.

“I'm just sorry.” She chokes up. “I'm sorry.”

“What for?” He remains sympathetic, hiding his deep confusion.

“You'll find out.” The words are so quiet and rushed that he can barely make them out. He sighs. “Always remember that you're loved, James. I will always love you. No matter what.” She says. Secretly, he cringes at the cliché, but can tell that she really means it.

“Well, you'll always be here to remind me, won't you?” Suddenly, worry builds up inside the pit of his stomach. Rising until he feels sick.

__

_ Why is she saying this? Why is she so upset? _

__

“Yeah, yeah.” she agrees dismissively, like she doesn’t even believe it herself. He suddenly feels desperate.

“Tell me you will be.” he wants to hear the words coming from her. “Tell me!”

“I - I will.” She stutters. He doesn’t believe her one bit.

“Promise me.” He orders her. “Promise me!” She does.

He doesn't realise it, but now is the moment. Now is the moment that can change everything. Depending on what he does now can change her life, his life, and the lives of millions of people.

Neither of them know exactly what’s at stake, so they just go to sleep.

Its the wrong choice.


	12. Happy Birthday

He keeps the box safely in his hands all the way home. Its 11:30 and he’s almost back at the house. He left early this morning and left her sleeping. As he approaches his destination, he can hear sirens. He just assumes its from somewhere else.

 

Its not.

 

There are police and ambulance parked outside the home. Everyone is gathered around, looking dazed, some in tears.

 

Imogen is not in sight.


	13. One Fatal Length of Rope

Agatha finds him, crying herself, mascara running down her face.

 

“Where’s Imogen?” he asks, looking past her to some policemen talking in a small group. They all look concerned, and one is shouting furiously.

 

“James, we need to talk.” her voice is very deep, and choked up.

 

He knows. In this instant, he realises.

 

A black body bag is taken into an ambulance. He can't see the face, but he doesn't need to.

 

He knows.

 

“Its her, isn't it?” he suddenly asks. Agatha turns grey.

 

“Yes.” she whispers. Something inside him ices over. He turns cold, hollow. He should have known. Its his fault.

 

“How?” His voice is deep and threatening. “How?!” he yells at her in a way he never has before.

 

“She, um, hanged herself.” Agatha can't look him in the eye. “I am so sorry.”

 

“I can't do this.” He says and simply walks off. She calls after him, but he ignores her and starts running. He runs until he's lost. Lost from the world;his thoughts;his emotions.

 

Lost from everything.

 

He ends up in some village he doesn't recognise. People look at him, alarmed. He runs until he can't physically carry on. He must've ran miles. He sits on a bus stop and dissolves into tears. He cant focus on anything except the image of her face; the sound of her voice; the softness of her touch. He wraps his arms around himself in a desperate attempt of consolation.

 

She can't be dead. She can't be.

 

He stays there for what feels like hours. He cries until he can no longer feel any more. All his pain has disappeared. He's now completely numb. He starts walking again. He wanders into a back alley. Some boys are there and start yelling at him. A high-pitched tone blocks out their words. One begins to approach him, holding up his fists, his friends jeering him on. James simply slams him into the wall and repeatedly punches him in the stomach, beyond caring. With every punch, he mentally hits himself for not realising. He eventually stops and leaves the boy on the floor, bleeding in multiple places, the other boys rushing to help him, leaving James well alone.

. . .

 

“She left a note,” A police officer tells him, and hands it to him. Shaking, he reads it.

 

I know its selfish. I can't do it any more. I sorry ,James. I don't want to do this to you, but I can’t do it to myself any longer. I just cant live with myself any more. I have been planning this for a long time, there is nothing you could've done to prevent this. Its not your fault. Please, please do not blame yourself. Anywhere is better than where I am now. You helped me as much as you could have, and I am so grateful. Thank you so much. Please remember that you're loved, James. I love you, always remember that. Imogen x

 

“I can't do this.” He sighs and puts down the note. He can't bare to think of her writing that note, or tying that fatal length of rope. “I can't fucking do this.” he feels like he should be crying, but its impossible for him. He's now beyond upset. He can't even feel any more: its like he's just an empty void.

 

“I know its difficult for you, James, but we need to find out why she did this. We know she was a child prostitute, but were there are any other reasons?” a young, blonde police woman holds up a clipboard. “You were the closest person to her.”

 

“She said nothing to me.” he ends the conversation and walks to the end of the room, alone. Alone, where, before her, he was always the happiest. He blocks everyone and everything out. He slowly builds a wall. A wall to keep the outside out. Inside the wall is him, and only the memory of her.

. . .

The funeral is particularly painful. It takes place a week after her actual death. The week flies past James. He doesn't go to school, doesn't eat unless forced, and doesn't speak to anyone. He doesn't even realise that time actually passes. It just feels like one, long moment.

 

Before he knows it, he's dressed up in his best suit, Westwood, and is standing by her coffin. He stands by in for five minutes before actually realising that he's supposed to place the lily on it. He wondered why he had it. It then dawns on James that this is his final goodbye. His last chance. He has millions of words for her, but no way to say it. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He then realises how silly it is. She can't actually hear him. She can't reply. His words would be meaningless.

 

Its a weird thought to James that her dead body is directly in front of him. He wants to look at her. He asks the nearest person to him, but they say that they can't. He asks why. The person replies that it would be to upsetting for too many people. James pulls a face.

 

Upsetting for them? They don’t know the meaning of the fucking word.

 

He wants to place one last kiss on her cold lips, but isn't allowed. Some person he doesn't know tells him that he needs to hurry up, if he doesn't mind.

 

He kisses two of his fingertips and places them on the edge of the coffin.

 

His final kiss.

 

“I love you.” he whispers, and walks on.

 

His last goodbye.


	14. The King of Crime

For the next 20 years, James keeps himself behind that wall. On the outside, he’s evil, and international criminal. He only does this because it keeps his mind occupied, otherwise, well, he doesn’t know what will happen. On the inside, he has nothing.

 

It took a while, but he worked his way up. Started with small drug dealing, and ends up with mass bombing and terrorism. He is known and feared internationally under the name of 'Moriarty'. He has been described as having ' a worrying disregard for humanity,' and ' is surely one of the biggest threats to citizens and the sooner we find him, the better. Until he's behind bars, we can't sleep with both eyes closed.'

 

The truth is actually that the government know exactly where he is, and who he is, and have for many years. They have an agreement: James keeps the nation scared, and the government can do whatever they want with no attention being drawn to them. Also, they pay James 73 billion a year. On top of what he gets for ransoms and drug lines, which earns a couple of billion on its own. He's extremely well off.

 

You may not think it, but Moriarty and the prime minister are on first-name terms, and occasionally meet up for a cup of tea.

 

The only person ruining this is Mycroft Holmes. He knows about the whole deal, and isn't happy. He wants Moriarty behind bars more than anyone else. He has a feeling that Moriarty is more important than him. He can't have that.

 

So he and Moriarty play games. Mind games. Not to go into detail, but James ended up faking his own death. The nation now think he's dead. There are obviously some theories that he's still alive, but most people find it a bit far fetched that a man can shoot himself in the head and survive.

 

Anyway, slowly, James has been fulfilling his promise to Imogen. So far, he's tracked down 256 of the 257 men that he promised to kill. The only one left is her father.

 

His final task.

 

He can't wait, but at the same time, he's terrified.

 

Terrified of what will happen after. So far, his promise is the only thing keeping him alive.

 

What will happen once he's done? He'll have nothing to live for. Nothing. He's terrified.

. . .

 

“We've got him, boss.” Sebastian Moran, the nearest thing to a friend that James has, gestures to a door that leads down to James' basement. Sebastian is a loyal man. He may not look like it, but he's very handy with a gun, and extremely quick on his feet. “Currently unconscious, but shouldn't be for too long.”

 

“Thanks,” James nods and makes his way down the dark corridor, to the father of Imogen, the every man who caused her death. He wants him to suffer as much as she did, physically and mentally. The basement is more of a dungeon, really, turned into a torture room over the previous years. Its only one of the seemingly hundreds of rooms that James has in his house. He forgets to count how many there are.

 

There he is, tied to a chair, a bag over his head. Anger builds up inside James. He wants to stab him here and now, but resists the urge. James kicks in the stomach. He instantly regains consciousness, and groans on the impact.

 

“What- what’s going on? Where am I” he yells. James hits his masked face.

 

“Shut the fuck up. Speech is a privilege that you have not earned.” He struggles to keep his tone calm, trying to make the anger subside. “If you even try to speak without being spoken to, I will personally insure that they are the last words that ever come out of your meaningless body.” he slaps him again. Hard. The man falls silent. James pulls out a chair and sits himself on it, facing Imogen's father. “Does the word 'Imogen' mean anything to you?” he asks, ice crusting over his voice. He can't remember how long its been since he's said her name out loud. “You are allowed to answer.”

 

“My- my daughter” he replies, his voice breaking slightly.

 

“Wrong. Your income. Your experiment. Your bread winner.” he pauses. “Did anyone tell you she's dead? She hung herself. Twenty years ago, actually.” James says nothing for a while and lets it sink in with him. He stands up and walks over to him. “Do you know who caused that? Huh?!” He yells at him. “You! You did!” He punches his stomach once more. The man exclaims. “You didn't care what you did to that little girl, or what other people did to her, for that matter. How on earth could you do that? You have wrecked and ended her life, ruined mine, and, as a result, millions of other people too. Because I’m that man you heard about on the news. I am James Moriarty, and you created the foundations of my evil. Your daughter would've kept me from doing what I do, but now she's dead, she can't, can she? You caused this, you piece of shit.” He kicks him hard in the chest. He falls backwards on the chair, toppling over onto the floor. “You don’t deserve to live, but it would be too kind just to kill you. I want you to suffer like all the hundreds of times Imogen did.” he tells him. Images of her flash through his head. He had to sit through all the videos of her so he could get the identities of all the men. It brings him to tears. It was torture having to go through all of them, having to sit down and see her being abused so badly. “Think about that.” He says and leaves the man there.

. . .

 

For weeks, he tortures him. Sometimes physically, sometimes mentally. Occasionally, he might force him to watch the videos of Imogen. It often reduces him to tears. James is now immune to all emotion. He just wants it all to end. Everything.

 

One day, he does end it. Without warning, he grabs a gun and shoots Imogen's' father in the head. Instantly, he stops breathing, his life task finally complete.

. . .

 

“I love you.” He whispers into her ear. His hands are placed on her hips, her hands oh his shoulders. She's wearing a long, elegant white dress. She looks stunning. They finish the dance perfectly.

 

“I love you,” her lips smile at him. Her blue shadow makes her hazel eyes stand out even more. Her hair is tied up elegantly, but small sections fall through and spiral down her beautiful neck. Her diamond ring sparkles as the guests applaud and cheer. Finally, they are married. They embrace each other, smiling blissfully. “Thank you so much,” she sighs peacefully. He gently strokes the side of her face. Her scars are visible, but no one minds now, they are a part of her, of who she is. There's no point in hiding them.

 

“You beautiful, beautiful, beautiful girl.” He tears up slightly. “You mean so much to me Imogen.”

. . .

 

He wakes with a start. It was only a dream. A nice one this time, not like his other nightmares. Sometimes he dreams that she’s being tortured again, but then he realises that its him, so he kills himself, only to wake up to his dismal life, never to be relieved from the pain. He starts sobbing. He doesn't want to go on like this. He can't go on like this.


	15. Imagine Imogen

Once again, James' life becomes meaningless, empty. Again, he has nothing. Except for himself, and the memory of her. When he's feeling really alone, he'll find the necklace he was going to give her. Holding it, he thinks about what could have been. He imagines their wedding, their life together, their children.

 

He Imagines Imogen.

 

The End


End file.
